Permanence
by mikan
Summary: Leaving behind the slums of Inuzuri, Hisana marries the heir of the Kuchiki clan. But ties from the past hold her bound: the sister she abandoned, the sinister stranger who haunts her dreams, and the man who has given her his heart.
1. Dash

**Permanence  
**by mikan

**Disclaimer**: Kubo owns my heart (and Bleach as well).  
**Author's Note**: This is my take on Byakuya and Hisana's story -- it'll be a multi-chaptered fic, and partly focused by the _30 Kisses_ themes on LJ. Comments are a great help, so please do drop me a line and let me know what you think of the story. Thanks for reading.

* * *

**Chapter One: **Dash 

She couldn't feel her legs any longer, couldn't distinguish which was left and which was right and which foot was now upon the ground. She was running so fast it was frightening — any moment now her legs would tangle and she would stumble headlong into the high litter-strewn grass. Gripping the bundle in her arms tightly to her chest, she willed her failing legs to move faster, her eyes all the while scanning the dry field wildly for a place to run to.

They were right behind her, had her cleanly in their sight, almost in their grasp. She could hear their grunting breath, the pounding of their feet, the shush of the grass as they trampled their way through. _Faster, faster! _her mind screamed. She dared not acknowledge the growing heaviness in her limbs, the searing rawness in her lungs. If she stumbled, or slowed even a step, they would both die.

She plunged into the brush at the edge of the field. Here the grass grew higher, well to her waist, slowing her down. She kept her eyes on the line of trees ahead. The woods — if only she could reach them! Then perhaps she could find a thicket or cave or someplace where they could take refuge from the men pursuing them so relentlessly.

It was all because of her mistake. She had simply picked the wrong man to steal from that day. But she had been spotted, caught red-handed before, and it had never come to this — this mindless, frantic dash for her life. Perhaps it was the day, then — perhaps this was the day when it all would finally catch up to her, when she would fail to make a clean getaway and hence pay with her life._ Their_ lives.

She broke free of the grasses and shot into the woods. It was darker here now, and cooler — the dense pines blocking out the pale light, blocking her path. She skidded now left, now right, soil and chipped wood flying at her feet, her eyes feverishly trying to seek out a path through the thick stand of pines. Shouting voices echoed through the stale forest — the men were barreling through the woods, breaking twigs and branches, crushing the fallen leaves in their assault.

_Faster!_

Suddenly she felt the baby strain against her hold, push its small face out, give a strangled cry. Tears sprang to her eyes — good god, had she suffocated the child? She eased her grip slightly, risking a quick glance down at the baby's face.

It was then that she saw it. Far in the corner of her eye, all the way to her left. A small rise, covered in dead leaves, between the trunks of two thick pines. Beyond it, surely a place to hide.

She veered off to the left sharply and rushed toward the rise, heart pounding in her ears, hands shaking as she gripped the child. Her eyes, wide with fright and stung by the frigid wind, filled quickly with tears, blurring the path before her.

_We're almost there... _ _we're almost there..._

She clung to that thought, the words keeping time with the frenzied beat of her heart. The voices behind her had faded to a confused cacophony — scattered hunters who had suddenly lost their prey. Seizing the moment, she burst past a cluster of pines, reached the rise and skirted the base of the small slope, heading towards the safety of the other side—

She couldn't stop the scream that tore free from her throat when her foot plunged through the drift of fallen leaves and connected with nothing but empty air. In the flash of blinding terror that shot through her, she held to one coherent thought: _the child. _She tightened her embrace, forced herself to fight the instinctive, panicked flailing of limbs as the ground disappeared under her feet and she went hurtling over the edge.

A pile of dead leaves had collected at the bottom of the short drop from the crest of the hillock, and it was into this that she landed, her arms still locked around the child, the wind slammed from her body in one sickening gasp. The sky flashed a brilliant white as pain seared through her, then everything dimmed, and for a long, strange moment of utter silence she could feel nothing. Then slowly, an ache crept into her consciousness, a low throbbing that pulsed to the ends of her feet, stirred her fingers.

Something was moving against her fingers.

Her eyes flew open. _The child!_

Turning awkwardly onto her side, she laid the baby carefully onto the ground and pushed the thick layers of swaddling away from its face. The child was fidgeting, its face contorted, mouth puckering in readiness for a cry.

"No, no," she whispered, leaning close, blinking back tears. "Please don't cry, Rukia, please." Pleading softly, she checked the small head, then, praying that no limbs had been broken, pulled the swaddling back closely around the baby's face.

Distant shouts echoed in the forest; she looked up, terrified she would find the men staring down at her from the top of the hillock. Seeing no one, she gathered the child in her arms and pushed herself to her feet. Pain, intense and immediate, speared her left ankle. She bit down hard on her lip, fought for balance, then hobbled the few feet to where the wall of the hillock face met the forest floor.

There was nothing on this side of the hillock, no thicket to hide in or arbor of fallen vines to shelter under. There was only a large boulder nestled in a patch of dry weeds. She glanced around. Behind her, the woods stretched out, flat and brown, bared for the coming winter, the tall, straight pines offering no place for refuge. She had to make a decision. She couldn't evade the men for much longer — her ankle was guarantee enough of that. What then, could she do? Did she dare hide here with the child and pray their pursuers never came down from the hillock?

Foolishness. They would scour the forest for her, with the same tenacity with which they scrabbled together daily whatever food and water they could find in the slums of Inuzuri. The same food and the same water that she had in turn stolen from them on countless occasions. They would give her no quarter, would seek her out with the unflagging stamina lent by rage and sensibilities injured one too many times._ It's that bitch again,_ they always cried, knowing her well by sight, as she would hastily tuck her loot into her kimono and tear away from them, disappearing down some dark alley. _That dirty skinny bitch with the brat._

Shouts broke the silence; suddenly they seemed much nearer, the echoes louder, closer to the crest of the hill above her head. Hastily she sank to her knees in the earth and placed the baby behind the boulder, into the tallest patch of weeds.

_I'm sorry, Rukia… _Her lips moved silently as she bent down, touched the child's cheek, then tucked the swaddling snugly around the small face. _I'll be back soon… I promise. I'll come back to get you._

The baby's face began to blur; impatiently she wiped her eyes with her grimy sleeve. She had to hurry. If they were found now—

The thought was too frightening to consider. Shakily she rose to her feet, grasping at the wall of the hillock for support, wincing at the pain in her ankle. Turning her back to the child, she surveyed the woods quickly. The pines jutted out like dark, slender bars from the flat forest floor. Perhaps if she could move deeper enough into the forest, to where the shadows lengthened and the trees grew in denser patches, perhaps there she could disappear against the trunk of a tree and wait and hope. She began to hobble as fast as she could away from the hillock with its boulder and the child lying in its wake. Pain throbbed up her leg in waves; she clenched her jaw against it, forced her weight onto her right foot and half-pushed, half-dragged her way through the leaf-littered ground.

She neared a tree, reached out and sagged against the trunk. Her breath came in harsh gasps; her ankle was beginning to swell. She had distanced herself less than twenty paces from the hillock. It was not enough — she needed to go farther, farther, so that if she were caught— She stopped breathing. If she were caught, what? What would she do?

Would she leave the child behind? Or would she beg her captors to take the child along?

She bit her lip and pushed away from the tree. She simply could not allow herself to be caught. If she did, then she might as well have sat down in the middle of the field, the child in her arms, and submitted themselves both to the mercy of those men. So move she must. She kept her eyes on the trees far into the forest.

And could hardly credit what she saw next. In the silence so sudden she had not remarked it, men began to appear amongst the trees before her. Her pursuers! She froze, staring at them in horror. They were moving towards her, their manner unhurried, menacingly calm, the gloating smirks on their faces exposing rotted, gapped teeth.

"_Gotcha,_" drawled their leader, the man whom she had stolen food from that morning. Here in the shadows of the forest, he seemed infinitely more frightening — hulking shoulders, a beady gaze that lingered on her body speculatively, held her rooted to the spot. The same dirty smirk as he slowly advanced towards her.

Belatedly she remembered she could still move, and at that moment came to action with jolting, clumsy haste. She stepped back with her left foot, ready to sprint away.

The pain was crippling, sent her sprawling backwards onto the earth, held her crumpled and helpless. The man reached her then, stared down at her for a long moment, then, with a big raucous laugh, snatched up the ratty collar of her kimono and dragged her to her feet.

He spat in her face.

She turned her cheek in disgust, only to have him yank her face back towards him. His fingers were grimy upon her skin.

"Had yer fun with us, eh, little miss? Now ye've got us all riled up."

Shouts of assent rose behind him as the men came forward and closed a circle around them. They were all suddenly too near, their eyes bulging with anticipation, glazed with excitement, their sweating, heaving bodies assailing her with their stench. The way they were laughing — low, harsh panting breaths — made them seem to her like a pack of wild dogs circling in for the kill.

"See what I mean?" the leader said, his lips twisting into a smile. He leaned close, and his reeking breath was upon her cheek. "Now it's our turn."

With that, he ripped her collar downward savagely, tearing her flimsy kimono open. She stumbled to the ground, her hands grasping futilely at the shreds left of her clothing. Her whole body trembling, she stared up at him, shock rendering her absolutely speechless. And then he bent down towards her again.

She scrambled out of his reach. "Please!" she cried, in a voice quavering with panic. "I-I'll pay you back! Every penny, I swear it!" She swallowed hard, tears spilling suddenly out of her eyes. Her hands shook as she pulled her tattered clothing tightly against her chest. "Don't do this — I beg you—"

That earned her another vulgar laugh. "Well, well. So ye _do_ know how to ask nicely, now, don't ye?" His lip curled. "Ye filthy, thievin' whore."

The next thing she knew, a rough-sandaled foot hit her squarely in the chest, stamping her to the ground. As she lay there gasping, another swift kick whacked her ribs. Bright whiteness exploded beneath her closed eyelids, the blow robbing her of breath.

"That is fer the food this morning, bitch," the man towering above her hissed. "And this," another kick smashed into her abdomen, "is fer the water ye stole last week."

She doubled over, curled her hands around her middle, tucked her head as far in as she could, shielding her body from the barrage of kicks and spittle that fell on her as soon as the leader had finished speaking.

_I'm going to die._ The thought came to her clearly, the observation made impassively. The pain was already beginning to dull into a pulsing ache all over her body, the voices above her loud one moment, fading into distance the next. Those voices, that ache, light and dimness, numbness and noise — all swirled about her, the ground spinning under her head.

Suddenly, a command cut through the sickening haze:

"_Stop._"

The voice was firm, full-bodied with authority, and heretofore unheard. Feet stopped in mid-kick, screeching hoots died abruptly into silence. Through the daze she was in, she felt the suffocating circle of bodies loosen, widen away from her. Instinctively, she curled even tighter into a ball, shielding her head with her forearms, the anticipation of the next round of pummeling making her shiver against the cold earth.

Footsteps came to a halt near her head. Cloth brushed her arms, air and sudden warmth lighting upon her as somebody settled onto the ground beside her. A hand grasped her wrists and pulled her arms away from her head. The touch was not rough — rather, it exuded the steady, controlled force of a man aware of his own strength.

"Look at that face."

Her hair had fallen forward over her cheeks — he swept it back, baring her face to the light. She cracked her eyes open slowly, fearfully, flinching at the sudden brightness.

There was silence. Opening her eyes wider, she found herself staring up at the face belonging to the voice. Round and brown, flat-nosed, with narrow, glittering dark eyes. The face was monkey-like, the frame small and light, hunched at the shoulders and curled at the toes. Yet there was strength in his grip, and authority in his voice that had clearly been heeded. She had been mistaken in surmising that the other man was the leader of this group. Their leader was this man, right here, next to her.

And his face was one she had seen before, caught a glimpse of, watching her from a dark alley as she passed by. She remembered the smirk, the way it creased the face, the strange menace that emanated from so diminutive a man.

"She's a beauty," he murmured, his bent fingers brushing her cheekbone. She shrank away, her eyes betraying her revulsion. His smile widened.

"She's coming home with us," he pronounced, his hand still holding her wrists captive. He hopped to his feet, yanking her up with surprising strength. She tumbled upright, onto her knees. He released his grip. "Take her."

There was a moment of silence, then the large man with the booming voice, the one who had been first to kick her, stepped forward. She backed away from him frantically, but he caught her ankle, snatched her up by the waist, and slung her over his shoulder. Only then did the full impact of the leader's words hit her, and the breath she had somehow been holding rushed through her lungs in a horrified gasp. She started kicking, clawing at her captor's back, completely overtaken by mindless fear.

"Feisty one," remarked the monkey-face.

The man holding her grunted in assent and adjusted his hold on her slightly.

"Well, let's get going," said the boss. "Looks like rain."

And so they began their trudge back through the forest. Her captor held her securely in place with a muscular arm that trapped her upper thighs against his chest, her abdomen flattened against his shoulder. Her head hung halfway down his back. She stared at the ground in panic, at the rough feet of the men following closely behind them. They were taking her to their lair, and once they were there— She could not bring herself to imagine what she would have to endure.

_A fate worse than death._

What was going to happen to her in a short while was undeniably worse than death. The thought was chilling in its certainty, but far more fearsome was the fact that there was now absolutely no way out of her predicament. Her captors had decided they wanted her alive; therefore death no longer presented a possibility of escape. And the implications of this were horrifying indeed. Alive, she would have access to thought and sensation, memory and consciousness, as she endured whatever sport it pleased them to subject her to.

She thought about her sister, about the child still lying behind the boulder near the hillock. Doubtless Rukia would die, perhaps even this very night — a night of chilly rain in a bare forest infested with wolves was not something a mere babe could be expected to survive. Had she been wrong to leave the child? Should she cry out now, beg them to take the child along, plead with them for mercy? Yet what use was a child to them, a child barely a month old? They would probably slit its throat right before her eyes.

The overwhelming hopelessness and misery of it all suddenly washed over her in an engulfing wave. Utter desperation made her suddenly bold, fury lent her strength. Clutching the rough material of her captor's clothing, she pulled herself up, high enough to latch onto his ear, and sank her teeth viciously into his earlobe.

_Kill me,_ urged the strangely calm voice in her mind. _Strike me, break my neck in one blow._

_Kill me here._

Yelping with pain, the man grasped her by the hair and yanked her head violently backwards, shoved her off his shoulder and threw her to the ground.

Her head struck the hard earth. She did not stir.

For a long moment, the monkey-faced man regarded her in silence. The contortions of fear were now gone from her face, leaving behind only a picture of beauty at peace. Her eyes were closed, the lids smooth in repose. Her white cheek rested against the spill of her dark hair.

He drew near to her side, sank to a knee beside her. Bending close, he touched his fingers to her neck, and murmured words that meant nothing to the men around him, yet were nevertheless oddly mesmerizing in their rhythm.

"...by this be bound," he whispered, finishing the incantation, his fingers skimming over her hair, "and fall into rest."

He took her in his arms.

**.:to be continued:.  
**


	2. Number 10

**Permanence**  
by mikan 

**Chapter Two: #10**

The most famous street in Soul Society was unquestionably East Rukongai's tree-lined main thoroughfare, the Omotesando. Even the Seireitei, that Court of Pure Souls, had no avenues to rival this grand, glamorous approach to the Eastern Gate. Stretching across the breadth of East Rukongai's posh first district, the Omotesando was impeccably situated, and only establishments of distinction were permitted on its length. As a matter of course, affairs of commerce were conducted with the utmost discretion and elegance — and nowhere else was that done quite as well as at #10.

From the street, #10 Omotesando was merely a wooden gate set into a high wall of rough-hewn stone. Beyond this wall, however, lay a sprawling complex of old buildings paneled in antique cypress, connected by a network of covered walkways. It was only at night that the place took on its true face. With the fall of twilight, one by one the paper-screened doors would come alight with a warm glow, and muted laughter and conversation would fill the hallways. From time to time the stirring notes of a solitary shamisen would hover in the air.

It was to the sound of this that Hisana awakened; she knew it because the note hung in her memory. Around her, the world felt eerily still — great blackened beams of wood girded the ceiling above her head, an oppressively heavy satin blanket weighed her down. She blinked, squinted, tried to turn her head, and found, to her sudden horror, that she could not.

"Do not vex yourself," came the calm words from somewhere to her right. "You will be able to move it soon."

The memory of that voice slid over her slowly. Then, in the next instant, everything came back to her as if in one rush — the sound of feet pounding through the forest, the coolness of the earth, the weak cry of a child.

"_Rukia..._" The child's small, pinched face, tightly swaddled, surfaced to vividness in her mind. Only then did the import of her situation strike her fully. Dear god... what had she done? How was it that she was here, breathing, speaking, while her sister lay abandoned on that forest floor, left to die?

"Did I not tell you," the voice reproached softly, "that you should not vex yourself?"

The words came from somewhere much closer now — anxiously she flicked her gaze sidewards, and froze. The face, as nightmarish as in her memory, was mere inches away, bent near her cheek.

"Your neck was almost broken by that foolishness you attempted at the last. I thought it prudent to place you under a binding spell to prevent further injury."

He spoke in a whisper, his breath brushing her skin. A shiver started at her neck, slid down her shoulders. She kept her gaze fixed on the black-beamed ceiling, afraid to look at him, afraid to breathe.

"You mustn't hold yourself so rigidly like that. The strain isn't good for your neck."

She thought she felt his touch on her skin — she would have jumped in fright, shrunk away, but the strange hold that he had placed over her body kept her limbs absolutely still. He saw her flinch, though, and seemed about to say something when suddenly a door slid open, somewhere to her left. At that, he straightened away from her, looked up.

"Good evening, Mistress," he greeted cordially.

A silken hem moved briskly against the tatami. The air was suddenly tinged with heady, opulent perfume.

"I don't have much time, so this had better be quick," the woman said curtly as she settled herself into the formal sitting position. Hisana watched her face as she spoke — the blood-red lips barely moved against the shocking whiteness of the painted face.

"Have you ever known me to squander your time?"

"You are ever an unspeakable nuisance, as you well know." The woman's gaze slid sharply towards the futon, and suddenly Hisana found herself staring into eyes that seemed uncannily familiar — dark, hard like beads.

"This is the girl?"

"Her name is Hisana."

If Hisana had been able to move her neck, she would have gaped at him. He knew her name! She had seen him only once before, she was sure of it, only in passing. It had been the briefest of glances. She knew beyond a doubt that they had never exchanged words, that she did not know him, nor he her. Yet here he was, speaking her name.

"Have her sit up," the woman ordered.

"Would it be possible for the Mistress to move closer to her instead?"

"What's wrong with her?"

The man sighed, said apologetically, "She sprained her neck while trying to run away from me."

At that, the woman drew in a long, slow breath, narrowed her eyes.

"What have you brought me here, Takezo? I want none of your trouble. I have no time, no patience to deal with unwilling prospects."

He waved a hand in blithe dismissal. "Oh, she'll be willing enough, I guarantee you that — once she's been fully apprised of her situation." With a flourish, he gestured towards the futon. "Please."

She shot him a look of displeasure. But with a haughty toss of her sleeves, and measured deliberateness, she rose anyway and moved closer to the futon. Sitting back on her heels, she eyed Hisana's face assessingly, then, without warning, grasped the satin blanket and pulled it away. Her gaze swept down the girl's body, flicked back once to the face.

She let the blanket fall from her fingers. "I see nothing remarkable."

"Mistress is too hasty."

"The girl is passably pretty, but nothing more."

"Come now — your most popular girls are only passably pretty at best. They _are_ very talented, though, I do grant you that."

She arched a brow.

"And what talent does this girl have?"

The man smiled. "That question I leave in your capable hands."

For a long moment they were both silent, one challenging gaze holding the other. Finally the woman said, lips tight:

"I suggest you _apprise_ her well of her situation — whatever it is. I will not tolerate theatrics of any kind. In the event that she does run away, you will, of course, be held responsible for any debt she has incurred."

"Now there's the Mistress I know," murmured the man, chuckling softly. "Nevertheless — I am quite confident that you will soon be thanking me for the girl I have brought to you today."

The woman had already stood to leave, and now looked down at him.

"You were always one to brag." She turned cold eyes upon the girl on the futon. "See to it that she is ready by the end of hours tonight. I expect her to be bathed and made presentable by the time I return. She is to await me in the servant's quarters."

The man inclined his head politely, then watched with quiet amusement as she exited the room in a stately swish of robes. When the door closed, he returned his gaze once more to Hisana.

"Quite a remarkable woman, isn't she? In certain circles, she's a veritable legend — the most famous geisha in Rukongai, the mistress of its most exclusive establishment. But more significantly for you, my dear, she's also Mother to the most desired women in Soul Society." He paused, regarded her with a thoughtful smile. "And now, she's your Mother as well."

Hisana had no idea what he saw in her face — why he should look at it so intently as he was doing now. She could barely comprehend what was happening, much less what he was saying, and she supposed her bewilderment showed plainly, for now he shrugged, continued dismissively:

"Oh, of course she did not birth you — in this world, what mother does? No, she is your Mother because she will be the one to transform you, Hisana, to push you forth into the new life you will have. The women who call her Mother all owe her this debt — it is she who has given them everything: beauty, acclaim, anything their hearts desire." He reached out, touched her hair lightly.

"Is there not something you desire, Hisana?"

His words called to her memory the child left behind in the forest. He was watching her eyes, saw the sudden flash of pain. He leaned close then, and told her simply, "It is all within your power now."

She turned her head to look at him as he drew away. With a start, she realized she could now move her head.

"Better, I hope?" he queried wryly, springing up from the floor to his full stooped height. "I'll have the maids come in now to get you prepared for your meeting with the Mistress. Do try to be on your best behavior, my dear. Let your neck serve as a reminder of how foolish — and futile — any impulse of escape is."

"_... You—_"

Her voice sounded foreign to her ears, cracked with thirst and desperation. But before she could even form the question she meant to ask, he glanced back at her over a hunched shoulder, his brows lifting. Then he smiled — a twist of the lips tinged with triumph.

"My dear girl, _I _am the man to whom you owe your life." His eyes were brilliantly black, held her immobile in spite of the fact that she had already been released from his spell. "Don't ever forget that, Hisana. You can never escape me. I've brought the world to your feet today — and I will see you hold sway over it."

And in a manner just as strange and incomprehensible as his words, he was suddenly gone from her sight.

* * *

Two women arrived almost immediately after, hustled her up from the futon, down the hallway, and into a bathing room with brisk efficiency. Stripping the creased sleeping robe from her shoulders, they scrubbed her body with unrelenting thoroughness, then plunged her into the water steaming in the high wooden tub. Hisana gasped, the scalding heat shocking the haze clear from her mind. 

"What a filthy girl," muttered the elderly woman who now leaned over her and proceeded to rub her cheeks raw with a washcloth.

The other woman, a young maid with a petulantly curled lip, snatched up the discarded robe from the floor. "You should have seen what she was wearing when he brought her in, Madam! The toilet rag would have been more presentable!"

"Is that so."

"I wonder what she could possibly be here for!"

The old woman made no reply, merely slapped the washcloth onto the edge of the square tub, and said bluntly, "Get your head under the water, girl."

Hisana stared up at her.

"I do not repeat myself," the woman stated flatly, before clamping her hand on the crown of Hisana's head and submerging it forcefully with surprising strength. Hisana struggled against her hold and came up sputtering, arms flailing, eyes blinded by the burn of the water. Choking, she gripped the edges of the tub, coughed out water. The women watched her with pitiless eyes.

"Her hair is a disgrace," remarked the old woman. "There's nothing that can be done with it until it grows out."

"Should we use a wig, then, Madam?"

Frail eyebrows arched in disdain.

"She's not a maiko. A clean kimono will suffice. But do comb her hair back so it won't hang so untidily in her face."

The maid nodded, eyeing Hisana critically.

"It's so strange — to think someone like her might become a maiko here. She's so... _different_ from the other girls."

"Enough of your talk. Take that bucket and wash her hair."

The maid finished bathing Hisana, pulled her out of the tub and wrapped her in a towel. With brusque haste both women ushered her into an adjoining room, where they proceeded to dry her hair and dress her in a simple midnight-blue kimono. Hisana stood, numbly silent, and endured their ministrations without complaint. As they tucked and folded the silk around her, the elderly woman looked at her directly in the eye and said abruptly:

"Why are you here, girl?"

Startled to be addressed so, and completely at a loss as to what she should say in reply, Hisana merely gazed at her in helpless bewilderment.

"How do you know Takezo?"

"... I do not know him," came the quiet, hesitant response.

The woman studied Hisana in silence, then turned away as the maid brought up a folded length of red silk for her inspection.

"That'll do. Put it on her."

Watching as the obi was wound around Hisana's waist, the woman continued, "The Mistress will be seeing you soon. Bow low to the ground when she enters and keep your eyes down. When she asks you something, you are to answer in the most polite manner possible. However, you are not at liberty to ask her any questions. Is that understood?"

Hisana nodded, purely in response to the force of the woman's tone.

"Very well." The woman stepped back then, surveyed the completed outfit, and said after a moment's pause:

"Bring me the cosmetics case from the Mistress's room. And one of the simpler wigs from the storage closet upstairs."

The maid's eyes widened. "We're dressing her up?"

The old woman shot her a glare. "Go and fetch them!"

Hastily the maid left the room. The woman turned once more to Hisana.

"Now listen," she said in a voice suddenly lowered, "you don't look like a foolish girl, so I'll try saying this to you. Your situation is exceedingly suspicious." When Hisana looked at her blankly, she demanded with some impatience, "Do you even know where you are, girl?"

Hisana shook her head.

"This is #10 Omotesando, in East Rukongai."

"East Rukongai!" Hisana breathed, shocked.

"Obviously you are not from this district—"

"I'm from Inuzuri, in the south!" she burst out.

The woman's lips thinned in annoyance. "As I said — _obviously_ you are not from here. And so what business could a person such as you possibly have with the mistress of this teahouse?"

"_Teahouse?_" echoed Hisana. The woman saw how her face paled, took pity.

"I said teahouse, not brothel," she said reproachfully, but the line of her mouth had softened. "An okiya is also part of the establishment. However, girls like you do not get brought in to become maiko. The Mistress is so well-known that she selects only the most promising and talented girls from the first districts to bring up in her okiya."

"I'm sorry... I — I'm afraid I don't understand," Hisana confessed, the meaning of the words _okiya_ and _maiko_ completely escaping her, as she had never heard them before in her life.

The woman regarded her with tangible disappointment.

"No... I don't suppose you would," she murmured. "But remember this at least — you're now in an extraordinary circumstance, in a place you would never have been allowed into had Takezo not brought you here." She moved closer to straighten the front of Hisana's obi, adjust the cord that held it secure.

"Now I don't know," she continued slowly, "if that makes you an extremely lucky girl... or an unfortunate one. But I do have a word of caution for you. Takezo is not a man to be trusted. I can assure you he does not have your best interests at heart. You must take care, therefore, never to place yourself in his debt."

The door slid open, and the maid came in, wig box and cosmetics case in hand. The woman stepped away from Hisana, and watched as the maid hastily applied the white face paint and lip rouge, then set the wig upon the young girl's head. In a matter of moments, the thin, bedraggled girl from Inuzuri had vanished; in her place now stood a woman of startling beauty, with eyes as dark as the midnight silk she wore.

"You must take care," the old woman repeated softly, gazing at Hisana's flawless white face.

* * *

Hisana sat motionless on the floor, staring at the door through which the two women had disappeared moments before. 

Her head felt heavy, her shoulders strained. The horrid wig felt like it was tipping forward, like it had been made for a head far larger than hers. She lifted her hands to her nape and felt for the yawning gap at the bottom edge of the wig. The headpiece wobbled — gingerly, she adjusted it until it settled a bit more comfortably. She returned her hands to her lap and noticed only then that they were trembling.

The kimono she had on was luxury she had never before encountered in her life. Made of a heavy silk of the darkest blue, shot through with faint threads of silver, it shimmered in the candlelight. The wide obi at her waist was a thick, gleaming scarlet, kept her back stiffly straight and made it difficult to breathe. She did not understand any of it — the outrageously decadent clothing, the weight of the wig on her head, the unfamiliar paste of cosmetics on her skin. They had even painted her neck — painted it and pulled the collar of her kimono down so low she could feel the cold air of the room touching her back.

She shivered, and once more tried to make sense of everything. She could not. One thing, however, was clear: she was alive. She lived now, in this moment, had somehow emerged unscathed from that terrifying dash in the forest. Violation and death had seemed so certain — but by some unfathomable miracle she still lived.

Yet her sister remained abandoned behind a boulder on that forest floor.

Hisana clung to that now as the only thing she could understand in the world. She had left Rukia behind; now she had to go back and get her. With a deep and sudden conviction drawn from the simplicity of this fact, she vowed to herself that she would find her way back to Rukia that very night. It didn't matter that she was presently in East Rukongai and had no idea even of how to get back to the southern quarter and that forest in Inuzuri. All she knew was an urgent need to escape, to flee from this strange place with its unimaginable, sinister luxury.

She sprang to her feet and rushed towards the door.

* * *

Banging his elbow against the wall, Shiba Kaien cursed again, this time a bit more loudly, though less distinctly, than the last. 

"Aaaghh... _fuckit,_ Byakuya, d'ya even _know_ where to go?"

Grasping his arm in a firm grip, his companion hauled him away from the wall and propelled him down the darkened hallway.

"I am not an employee of this establishment. If you had simply allowed the girl to lead you to—"

"And have 'er see me puke my guts out? No, sirr, thaaank you!" Kaien's head lolled towards him, assailing him with breath reeking of alcohol. At that, Kuchiki Byakuya pushed on the arm in his grip, thrusting his friend upright and away from him.

"Hold your tongue," he snapped, stifling the urge to gag out the foul air he'd just breathed in. Damn Kaien for being the braggart he was — he could never hold his liquor, yet typically, tonight he had been the first one to imbibe! And now here he was, stumbling over his own feet, babbling, hardly able to hold up his own head!

Kaien was doubling over again, one of his hands clutching at his abdomen.

"...there yet?" he mumbled, the grimace on his face telling Byakuya he was perilously close to retching right there, on the smooth polished floor of the hallway. Byakuya hauled him upright again, and with grim distaste quickened his steps, hoping that the corner coming up ahead would lead to an open walkway, or inner courtyard, or _somewhere._ It didn't even have to be a godforsaken bathroom, wherever those happened to be in this confounded house! Just somewhere Kaien could throw up his dinner, so hopefully he wouldn't—

"_Byak'ya..._" Kaien gurgled, his face looking quite green even in the weakly-lit hallway.

"Damn it, Kaien..." Byakuya said tightly, the words _not on my uniform!_ rushing through his head. They were almost at the corner. The way things were looking now, they would probably have to stop at that corner and let Kaien do his business there... The thought filled him with disgust, but what else could he do? It was either the corner or his uniform. And, childhood friend or no, he was damned if he'd let Shiba Kaien smear him with vomit.

"In there," he commanded, reaching the corner and letting go of Kaien's arm. Kaien stumbled forward.

It was then that the most incredible thing happened. A _girl_ came rushing out of nowhere, crashed into Kaien, and sent him sprawling backwards onto the floor, her body atop his. Something black and hairy went flying across the hardwood. Byakuya stared down in disbelief, in total mute horror, at the severed _head_ that had come to rest against his feet. It took him a few moments, and several rapid blinks, to realize that no, it wasn't a head, it was actually a wig that lay there. A wig that must have been dislodged from the head of the girl who had collided so suddenly with Kaien.

Kaien, however, did not have the benefit of either rational thinking or clear vision at that moment to realize this fact. He stared at the wig, black and monstrous in the dim hallway.

"H...Holy _shit! Byakuya!_" he sputtered, his eyes wide, riveted on the ghastly object.

"It's a wig, Kaien," Byakuya said tersely, pushing it away with his foot. The wig rolled to the side, its hollowness exposed.

Suddenly both of their gazes were drawn to the girl who now hastily scrambled off Kaien and backed away from both of them until she hit the wall. She stood flattened against it, her eyes darting from Kaien to Byakuya to the length of hallway where she had come running from. Fear strained her features — every line of her body was poised for flight.

"Are you hurt?" Byakuya demanded sharply.

She stared at him in wordless fright.

On the floor, Kaien slowly rolled to his side, shook his head in an effort to clear it, and squinted up at the girl.

"God, Byakuya," he muttered. "You're scaring the shit outta her."

She looked from Kaien then back to him, and Byakuya noticed only then that her eyes were a startling shade of blue. Against her painted face, they seemed even larger, more luminous, and although he was well aware that at that moment Kaien warranted his attention more than anything, he found it difficult to look away.

Kaien was now attempting to push himself up; the girl noticed how the force in his arm weakened, wavered. After a moment of frozen indecision, she hastily crossed to his side and sank to her knees to help him sit up. Kaien swayed, his shoulders shook. The girl leaned closer, looking into his face with concern.

It all happened too fast. Suddenly Kaien was bending over, Byakuya took a step forward, and the girl was touching Kaien's face. Then Kaien's shoulders heaved, the girl gasped, and there was silence — a brief moment of shocked silence, before Kaien started retching once more, right into the girl's lap.

For a fleeting instant, she gaped at the sodden mess soaking into the silk of her robe, and at the man who shuddered against her, spasms seizing his body. Then Kaien raised his head, drew in a shaky breath. In that moment, all trace of apprehension left her eyes. She laid a hand on his back, helped him lean against the wall.

Before Byakuya could even fathom what she intended to do next, she was already looking up at him, one hand clutching at the enormous obi knot at her back.

"Please..." she tugged on the silk, "...help me undo this."

It was extraordinary, how he had allowed himself no hesitation — she was holding up one end of the sash, and he had taken it without a word, dropping down to one knee beside her. Her hand fumbled against his, distracting him; he pulled on the cloth but it refused to give way.

"This first, I think," she told him, her fingers tracing the slim twisted cord that girded the obi. She was right; he found the small, tight knot under the layers of heavy silk. Undoing it, however, took more work, as for some inexplicable reason, his palms were suddenly sweating. After struggling with the slippery cord for a few torturous moments, he finally managed to pick the knot apart. He pulled on the sash, and the elaborate bow loosened at once, fell away into his hands in a cascade of lustrous silk.

She wasted no time, was already loosening the front part of the sash. Hastily she yanked the silk towards her side.

"Thank you," she whispered, gathering the cloth and turning back to Kaien. Briskly she ripped off a section from the end of the sash, folded it twice over into a wide square, and wiped the sweat off Kaien's brow, cleaned away the traces of vomit that streaked his chin.

The spasms of nausea had passed; nevertheless Kaien's head rolled restlessly against the wall as he sought to steady his disoriented senses. At her touch, though, he stilled — then slowly opened his eyes. The stench of vomit hung in the air. His gaze slid downward, to her ruined robe. He let out a heavy breath.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his lips barely moving.

She merely shook her head, then proceeded to use the remaining length of obi to clean up the pooled mess on her robe. When she finished, she gathered the ruined red silk and wadded it up into a tight bundle.

Kaien was watching all the while.

"Your hair," he reminded her.

She frowned, clearly missing his meaning. He smiled weakly, tilted his head towards where the wig lay.

Her gaze slid to the side of the hallway and she stared at the wig, her face suddenly frozen, as if she were looking upon an object of menace whose existence had slipped completely from her mind. So abruptly that she startled them both, she shot to her feet.

Byakuya stood; her eyes met his.

"Forgive me," he heard her say, as she hurried past him, her sleeve brushing against his hand. A sudden, absurd notion came to him then — to grasp her arm, stop her from leaving just yet. Something about her haste made him uneasy — the panicked movement of her body, the bright glaze of fear that had returned to her eyes.

But before she could move any farther, robes rustled forbiddingly in the silence, and a figure emerged from the darkness of the hallway.

"What do we have here...?" came the soft, icy query.

And the Mistress was upon them.

**.:to be continued:.**


	3. Look Over Here

**Permanence**  
by mikan

**Chapter Three: Look Over Here**

What a mess.

What a needless, utterly senseless mess, thought the Mistress of the Teahouse as her gaze slid from Shiba Kaien's haggard face to Kuchiki Byakuya's impassive one. Shiba wore an expression of exhausted blankness, his head resting against the wall. Kuchiki merely regarded her with those pale, inscrutable eyes of his. The Kuchiki eyes.

A ridiculous urge to laugh rose up within her suddenly. How _well_ she knew them, those eyes! Such a pale gray as to be almost transparent, ringed with flecks of amber that were rarely noticeable except in instances of emotion. And what emotion she'd seen! She had witnessed those eyes glitter with anticipation, turn a mercurial silver in passion, lighten frightfully in icy contempt. Yes, he was most certainly his father's son, every inch of him... that strong set of jaw, those eyes that now regarded her with opaque steadiness.

"Lord Kuchiki," she murmured, inclining her head slowly. With the same deliberateness of motion, she turned her attention to Shiba Kaien, who was now bending his legs, breathing harshly as he sought to push himself to his feet.

"Lord Shiba, you are unwell. I will have a room made ready immediately so you may lie down."

He shook his head — a bit too vigorously, as he belatedly realized. Groaning, he cradled his temple and muttered, "No—"

"You are in no position to argue the matter at present, my lord." She shuffled forward a few steps, the heavy silken hems of her layered robes swishing past his feet. Facing the hallway which stretched out directly before him, she called out in a dainty sing-song:

"Gra-nny...! If you please...!"

The hallway remained silent. As she stood there, waiting for the old woman to appear, out of the corner of her eye she caught the hesitant shift of a foot. She turned her head and pinned the girl with her gaze.

"My dear. Do be so kind as to find Granny in the back room. Inform her that Lord Shiba requires our immediate assistance."

The girl merely stood there, frozen and wretched, in that horrifically soiled kimono.

"_Byakuya_—"

Shiba Kaien was now staggering to his feet. Kuchiki Byakuya caught his arm just in time, pulled him upright.

"Sorry..." Shiba addressed her, his brows knitting together as he visibly strained to match words to his thoughts. "Her..." He gestured at Hisana. "She..."

She laid a hand lightly on his arm, halting his mumbling. "Lord Shiba, there is no need to exert yourself." At that moment, to her immense relief, a door slid open some distance down the hallway. She smiled tightly at Shiba, then greeted the old woman who had emerged from the back room.

"Ah, Granny! Lord Shiba requires a room, immediately."

The old lady bowed. "The Willow Room is ready for his lordship. I will have the girls come and assist him."

"Yes, please do so. Oh, and Granny—" she paused, the smile still firmly in place on her lips, "—the darling girl you dressed up for tonight appears to have lost her way."

The old lady's face showed no emotion, but her steps were quick as she proceeded down the hallway towards the corner where they stood. Briskly she said to the girl who stood apart in the shadows: "Come, child. Your kimono needs to be changed. I'll bring you to your room."

At her words the girl began to back away, her small feet sliding behind her in blind, uncertain steps. Her eyes shot nervously from one face to the next.

"Come," the old woman repeated.

The girl spun then and stumbled into a run down the darkened hallway.

"Wait!" Shiba Kaien shouted.

The Mistress expelled a breath through gritted teeth. Cursing Takezo silently, she stared down the hallway where the girl had fled.

"I will fetch her," said the old woman, already moving to follow after the girl.

"No, Granny," she cut in, "please attend to Lord Shiba. I will see to the girl." Gathering the skirt of her robes in her fist, she nodded curtly at the two noblemen. "My lords."

Suddenly Kuchiki Byakuya spoke.

"That person... appears to be in some distress."

She paused at that. _How like his father he is!_ she remarked to herself for the second time that evening. That same voice, that same manner of speaking — bland politeness masking genuine concern. Thinking on this, she was taken back to another evening, long past: a young man with the same pale eyes and dark hair, fixing his gaze on her as she hurried down a hallway much like this one, clumsy in her long robes. She had been only a graceless apprentice then; he, merely a young, untried Kuchiki son. The memory of that gaze, so plainly anxious as he watched her tripping on her robes, lingered in her mind, and she bestowed now upon his son a smile tinged with a hint of warmth.

"Such solicitude for one so unworthy does you merit, my lord." She bowed deeply, then turned from him and headed into the hallway to find the girl.

* * *

_Hisana..._

The voice echoed in her head, had her halting at a corner, eyes wide in the dark hallway.

_Hisana..._

It was him! That voice again... that repulsive face...

Hisana began to tremble where she stood. _Keep moving!_ she shouted at herself, pushing her feet to scramble into motion, rush down the smooth wooden walkway, away from that frightening woman and that old lady and that voice—

"Hisana."

This time she felt his breath on her ear. But the scream died strangled in her throat as a powerful hand slapped over her face and she was pulled off her feet. In the space of a heartbeat she was tossed onto a hard floor, into complete darkness. For a few dazed moments she thought she had passed out. Yet the pain was too acute for unconsciousness — her elbow had struck the floor first, and now she curled brokenly onto her side, her bones throbbing, the wind knocked clear out of her chest. It was so dark — her eyes had been tightly shut against the pain but she had them wide open now, as soon as she could think again, and yet she could see nothing. She lay there in mute terror, eyes searching wildly for that horrific figure to surface out of the blackness.

"Trying to break your neck again?" came the softly spoken words.

Her breath caught, the sudden, overwhelming rush of renewed fear choking her. She tried to hold herself completely still, yet her whole body shook, shivered at the strange cold air that wafted about her.

"Haven't I made it clear? You can never escape me."

"What do you _want?!_" she cried, her voice shrill and breaking. The words died into silence. She stared into the darkness, the sound of her frantic, shallow breathing maddening in that awful room — vast and yet close, close enough that his nearness prickled her skin.

He began chuckling — low, throaty sounds of laughter that danced around her.

"What do _I_ want?" he echoed. "Not I, my dear; rather, _you._ Did I not ask you this before? _Is there not something you desire, Hisana?_ Something you would give your life to obtain?"

His words sent shock pouring through her, chilling her into immobility. The memory flashed in her head: a leering face, a voice that crawled upon her skin. _Is there not something you desire?_...

She had thought of Rukia then, and now, the child's face lanced through her mind again.

"Shall I help you remember?" asked the voice softly.

And then, out of the darkness surfaced a weak glow. Squinting, she saw that it was a paper lamp; slowly, she pushed herself upright, her elbow twinging painfully. Gradually the pale yellow light began to spread, the darkness receding to the corners of the room. Far ahead, he suddenly appeared.

He was seated on the edge of a low raised platform that ran along the front of the room. Next to him sat an ornate rectangular screen, a broad panel of wood lacquered in gold. White cranes in flight swept across its width; the gold background shimmered in the dim light.

"Come closer," he whispered, his lips curving slightly. "Look over here."

She did not move.

He cocked his head to one side. "No?" His gaze slid behind the screen for a moment. "I have something of yours here, Hisana. Something I think you'd be very glad to see again."

Her eyes widened at his words, and hastily she scrambled to her feet. He threw his head back and laughed, watching her stumble across the floor.

"Look," he exclaimed gleefully, springing up and spreading his hands towards the back of the screen. "Look here!"

Hisana hurried onto the platform, took one look behind the screen and froze.

"Isn't she adorable?" he murmured, creeping nearer.

"Don't you touch her!" Hisana shrieked, flinging her arm at him with sudden strength. She rushed towards the basket sitting behind the screen and snatched up the swaddled child. Holding Rukia tightly against her chest, she stared down at the man sprawled across the platform.

He was chuckling still as he rolled back into a sitting position, eyeing her with amusement.

"My, my, Hisana... quite the feisty one, you are. All that delicacy certainly is a trick for the eye." He arched a brow. "Well? Aren't you glad you looked?"

She remained silent for a long moment, her gaze never wavering from his face. "What do you want?" she demanded finally, the steadiness of her voice surprising her.

He sighed then, regarded her wearily. "Not a word of thanks, I see, for saving your sister's life." Then his voice turned — like hers, hardened. "What you hold in your arms is, by your own admission, what you would give your life for. It is what you desired and I have given it to you. Now, I call my forfeit."

Hisana stood silent and still, her arms rigidly locked around Rukia. The man's eyes bored into hers, those same intensely black eyes burned into her memory.

"You are to belong to me, Hisana, your soul in its entirety."

"_Belong_...?" Bewilderment was plain on her face.

"Yes," he whispered. "Belong. To me."

Her revulsion was instantaneous and completely transparent. "I will never—"

"Perhaps I am not being clear," he cut in. "_You_ are the forfeit for your sister's return. In other words, if you wish to keep her, you must give yourself to me."

She stared at him, her mind denying the import of what she was hearing.

He studied her face. "I fear you misunderstand me," he said at last, leaning forward. "I mean you no harm. By submitting yourself to me, you empower yourself, Hisana. A life in the first district, the best kind of life to be had — it's yours, if only you so choose."

"I have no interest in such a life."

"Do you understand the choice you are making?" he asked quietly.

She ignored him and turned to step down from the platform. Her heel hadn't even touched the floor when the child in her arms started wheezing violently.

"Rukia!" Hisana gasped, pushing the swaddling cloths away from her sister's face. The child's mouth was open in a little O of horror, her dark eyes focusing with frightening intensity as her small body fought to draw in the air suddenly being denied her.

Hisana tugged at the tight layers of cloth wrapped around Rukia's chest. Frantically she loosened them, pulling until she could see the bare skin of the child's neck. There was nothing choking her, nothing around her throat, nothing in her mouth. Yet she was still in distress, more so now — her lips were starting to take on a bluish hue.

Hisana whirled around, ready to accuse, ready to beg, and felt her heart stop.

The man was nowhere to be seen.

She stared at the empty platform in absolute horror, then at the writhing baby in her arms.

"No," she whispered, falling to her knees and laying the child on the floor. Her hands shaking, she hastily unwrapped the rest of the swaddling cloths. The child's dark head was straining upwards, the little throat fighting to draw breath.

_Your forfeit._

Hisana's head snapped up; mindless with despair, she scanned the room wildly. He was nowhere in sight. Had he spoken or had she heard his voice inside her head?

"You're going mad," she told herself.

_She's dying,_ came the voice again.

Hisana dipped her head, breathed desperately into her sister's mouth, and watched as the child continued to strain. Rukia's skin was now ashen; her lips were darkening to gray. A moment longer, and...

"Stop it!" Hisana cried out to the room, knowing he was there somewhere, watching her. "Stop this! I'll give you what you want, just..."

There was no response. The child's wheezing was becoming fainter and fainter.

"Do you hear me, you bastard?!" Hisana screamed.

"Such language!" came the exclamation from behind her. She looked up and found herself staring right into his eyes.

"What I want, Hisana?" he murmured.

Suddenly the world was very still — there was no more fear, or fury, or revulsion, or despair, only his eyes — those dark, dark eyes with their strange heaviness that reached deep inside her chest, settling into her, steadying her.

"Yes," she whispered, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Then swear yourself to me," he said, his voice calm and smooth and low. "Acknowledge my forfeit — of your own will."

The words came easily, so easily to her lips. "I acknowledge it."

"Of your own will." He watched her face intently.

"Of my own will," she echoed, feeling strangely distanced from the words she was speaking.

He smiled then. "Good girl."

As if it were an afterthought, he swept his right hand dismissively over the child on the floor. At once Rukia's wheezing ceased. Hisana stared speechlessly the child who moments before had been in the throes of death. Now she looked as if she were sleeping peacefully, her little chest rising and falling in even breaths.

"She's..."

"Sleeping. She's tired." He reached out and touched Rukia's cheek in the briefest of caresses, then turned his attention to her again. "And so are you."

Yes, yes she was. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had a thought that she should be awed by all this, alarmed by the power which this man could command. Yet it was becoming difficult to feel anything beyond the pervading heaviness of the calm sinking into her bones.

"Rukia is alright," she remarked, looking down at the sleeping child.

The man reached out towards Hisana's face; a gnarled finger swept a lock of hair behind her ear.

She did not flinch.

"Everything will be alright from now on," he stated. "Come, you must rest."

In that moment, beyond her will or capacity for understanding, she accepted every word he said.

* * *

Byakuya stood over the futon, looking down at Kaien. The elderly woman who had led them to this room was kneeling at Kaien's side, tucking him in under the heavy layers of quilted silk. 

"This is stupid," Kaien muttered.

Byakuya ignored him, stepping aside as a maid brought forward a polished copper pail. She set it down near Kaien's head.

"If you feel unwell during the night, Lord Shiba," said the old woman, "please do not hesitate to use this."

Kaien glanced sideways at the shiny bucket, and sighed deeply. He grasped the edge of the thick silk comforter and once more pushed it off his chest. "I—"

"Cease this protesting, Kaien," Byakuya cut him off, a touch of weariness in his voice. "You are too ill to venture home."

Kaien glared up at him. "I'm fine."

His impatience discernible in the slight narrowing of his eyes, Kuchiki Byakuya turned to the old woman, who had once again pulled the covers back under Kaien's chin. "Please ensure that he is awakened before sunrise tomorrow—"

"I'm not staying a night in this joint, Kuchiki," Kaien said crossly, sitting up and flinging the comforter off his body. Planting his hand on the tatami, he made ready to get up, but suddenly paused and shut his eyes, a telltale sway to his pose.

Byakuya merely watched him, then said, "I advise you to lie down. Your accommodation for tonight has already been settled, but if you befoul these sheets, I will have you held accountable for all costs."

Kaien cracked open his eyes and shot him a malevolent look. The old woman clucked, "Now, now, Lord Shiba..." as she put her hands on Kaien's shoulders and coaxed him back onto the futon.

"It is imperative for him to return to the academy as early as possible," Byakuya continued, as if there had been no interruption at all.

The old woman bowed. "As you wish, Lord Kuchiki."

"His uniform will need to be laundered."

"We have already seen to that, my lord."

"Very well." His eyes flicked over Kaien's scowl. "I will inform the others that you are unwell."

"Just tell 'em I went back early."

"Shall I convey that to the dormitory master as well, when he questions me about your empty bed?"

Kaien rolled his eyes and threw his arm across his face, blocking out the lamplight. "Get the hell out of here."

Byakuya inclined his head briefly at the old lady and proceeded towards the door. Hastily she got to her feet, hurried past him and slid it open. He stepped out into the hallway; she bowed and was about to pull the door shut, when he said suddenly:

"May I ask you something?"

She paused. "Of course, Lord Kuchiki."

Byakuya hesitated, looked away from her curious gaze. "That person... in the hallway, earlier..."

She waited. When he still did not speak, she stepped into the hallway herself and slid the door closed behind her. She looked up at him and asked quietly, "What of her, my lord?"

In the dim candelit hallway he felt somewhat emboldened, his face shadowed, voice muted by the thick fibrous paneling that lined the walls. Even the air, heavily perfumed and laden with incense, hung close, leaving him with a strange sense of isolation. "Will she be... perhaps... in need of aid?"

The old woman sighed. "My lord, truly. Such a trivial matter—"

"She appeared very much afraid," he cut in. "If due to this incident she has incurred the disapproval of your employer, then... amends must be made."

"She is a servant girl newly arrived today," the old woman replied. "As such, she is still unaccustomed to the surroundings. But she will settle into her duties in good time, my lord. I assure you, there is no cause for concern over her welfare."

He was silent for a long moment, long enough that the old woman peered up at him. "My lord? If there is nothing else you require, allow me to lead you back to where your gathering is." She did not wait for his assent; she began heading up the hallway ahead of him.

Byakuya held back a sigh and followed her. Together they proceeded through the warren-like hallways of the inner teahouse in silence. As they reached the wing where the banqueting rooms were, the sound of laughter and merry-making encroached upon the air — a low hum at first, growing more raucous and pronounced as they approached. The old woman led him to a pair of double sliding doors which led to the room where the party from the academy was gathered. He could hear his instructors' inebriated yelps of laughter, and his fellow classmates' drunken chorus.

"What is her name?" The question escaped him just as she slid the door open. His instructors spied him instantly; one raised a jug of sake to him in acknowledgement.

"Oi, Kuchiki! Where ya been? Yer missin' out!"

The old woman bowed and gestured towards the open doorway. The noise spilled over into the hall.

"Please," he murmured, certain that she had heard him, that she understood what he was asking to know.

Her gaze was steady, her face completely closed. And then she shook her head, said with a resigned sigh:

"Hisana. Her name is Hisana."

Byakuya felt a shiver pass through him. _Hisana. _Her name was like a whisper, like the girl herself — fragile yet utterly compelling, hinting at an unbearable mystery. The old woman bowed and turned away without a word, slowly making her way back into the inner maze of the teahouse.

"Kuchiki!" The cry rang out, jolting him. "Watcha standin' there for? Get in here!"

He turned back to the doorway, his eyes squinting in protest of the garish light, the jarring noise. He stepped inside the room and slid the door shut behind him, heard the chaos swell all about him, yet inside he felt strangely still.

_Hisana._

The knowledge of her name sank deep within him, an unfamiliar joy that he quietly welcomed into himself.

* * *

"Lord Shiba." 

Somebody was shaking his shoulder.

"Lord Shiba."

Kaien jerked his shoulder away and grumpily curled up under the covers.

"Lord Shiba!" The voice was louder now, more shrill. And it was — he was just noticing now — _female._

_Female?_

Kaien cracked his eyes open. Blinding daylight flashed in; he shut them again tightly.

_Wait..._

He sat upright abruptly. The room tilted crazily then, a sickening swirling sensation pounding in his head and churning in his gut. He crumpled to his side, falling back onto the futon, groaning.

"Shit." _Shit shit shit._ His tongue felt fuzzy, heavy as a dead slug in his mouth. He remembered the girl. Ah, Kuukaku... was it Kuukaku?

"Kuu — water," he mumbled.

An arm slid under his back, coaxing him upright. "My lord, you must sit. I cannot give you water if you are lying down."

_My lord?_ What the hell was wrong with Kuukaku? Come to think of it, it _didn't_ sound like Kuukaku. If it wasn't Kuu, then who—

He started blinking rapidly to clear the crustiness away from his eyes, taking note of his surroundings for the first time. To his left, a wall of sliding shoji glowed with bright sunlight from outside. The room was mostly empty; his futon was all that occupied the tatami-covered floor. He looked down. He was wearing a cotton yukata, dark blue slashed with white. He had never seen it before in his life.

His thoughts tumbled about inside his head. It was daylight outside — that meant he was supposed to be at the Academy, this instant, sitting in class. Clad in his uniform and not in some yukata with fish-patterns all over it.

Just then, a face dipped into his vision. Kaien took one look at the girl and remembered everything.

Her hair was her own today — glossy black, framing her face in layers that fell forward as she bent near him. She had a small cup of water in her hand.

"Here," she said, bringing it slowly to his lips. "Please drink."

She tipped the cup, and he drank hungrily, draining it in what felt like one gulp. She took the cup away, then studied his face.

He grinned like an idiot at her.

"Are you feeling well enough to eat, my lord?" she asked him. "I've brought you some breakfast..." She was kneeling by the side of the futon; turning, she picked up a footed tray and set it on the floor next to him. Her eyes met his — with a start, he noticed that they were quite strikingly blue. Kaien frowned. How could he not have noticed that last night?

She was looking at him expectantly. "Will you have breakfast, my lord?"

He looked down at the tray and realized only then that he was actually ravenous. And still desperately thirsty. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat.

"I _will—_," he tried to say, but his voice broke on the last word and mangled it into an undignified croak. Utterly horrified upon hearing himself, he reached for the cup of tea sitting steaming on the tray. At the same moment, her hand fell upon his arm, halting him.

"The tea is very hot. I will bring some more cold water."

He shook his head, picked up the earthen cup, and took a couple of sips of the scalding tea. The liquid seared its way down, blanching away the fuzzy slug in his mouth. He set the cup down carefully on the tray and cleared his throat.

"No," he said, his voice deep and normal and — thank _God_ — manly, "don't bother. The tea's good." He surveyed the tray with interest, then picked up the small bowl of soup. His head was still swimming slightly — _take it easy, Kaien, _he warned himself. _You better not throw up on her lap a second time._

He lifted the delicate porcelain spoon and saw with irritation that his hand was shaking. As he fought to steady it, cool fingers touched his, gently taking the spoon and the bowl from his grasp. With quiet grace she swirled the spoon in the soup, mixing up the bits of tofu and strips of seaweed. Then Kaien found himself staring at a spoonful of light miso, which she was lifting to his lips.

"Open," she murmured.

He obeyed, took the spoon into his mouth. She tipped it, then slid it out smoothly. The warm liquid spread over his tongue, and he gulped it gratefully. He watched her dip the spoon into the soup again, and grinned.

"My lord?" Her face was so grave.

"Nothing," he replied, his smile widening. She returned her attention to the soup, stirring it once more. The smooth dismissal in her manner rankled a bit, compelled him to keep on blabbering. "I was just thinking you're good at this. Whenever I try to feed my little brother his porridge, my sister always warns me that I'm going to knock his teeth out if I'm not careful."

"Ah," she exclaimed softly, her gaze finally focusing on him and not the damn soup bowl. "Lord Shiba has a younger sibling?"

"Yep. Two of 'em." He leaned forward an inch. "What's your name?"

She blinked, drew back an inch. "My name?"

He nodded.

She looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Uh... Hisana. My lord."

He cocked a brow. "Hisana My Lord? What a peculiar name!"

She colored, her lips flattening into a line. "My name is Hisana, my lord."

"I heard you the first time," he assured her.

Her fingers curled around the base of the soup bowl. Kaien waited, watching her with undisguised interest. He'd bet—

"The name's _Hisana_," she said, her voice low and irritated, the serene facade slipping for a moment. "Just Hisana."

"Ah." He gave her a subdued smile, feeling absurdly pleased. "Well, _my_ name is Kaien. _Not_ 'my lord'."

She looked utterly charming when she was at a loss, Kaien decided. He nodded at the bowl in her hands. "Can I have some more?"

Hastily she dipped the spoon back into the soup and started feeding him again, all the while visibly trying to regain her poise. She was concentrating too hard. There was a little crease between her brows, and the line of her mouth looked positively mutinous — like Kuukaku's when she was out to prove something. When they had emptied the soup bowl, she set it down onto the tray and proceeded to pick up the slim chopsticks sitting next to the plate of crisp fish. Expertly she extracted a sliver of gleaming white meat.

"I'm sorry, by the way—" he began.

Her eyes flew to his.

"—about last night."

She cupped her hand under the chopsticks and held the meat up to his mouth. She fed him as deftly as she had the soup, the chopsticks never touching his lips. He chewed on the fish, and waited.

"There is no need for apology," she said while picking once more at the fish. "You were unwell."

"I'm pretty sure I ruined your kimono."

She fed him another mouthful that kept him momentarily quiet. "That was the okiya's property, my lord. Not mine."

"_Kaien,_" he mumbled, swallowing the fish.

She gave him a long, measuring look, the kind his mother always used to give him before she laid down some ultimatum or other.

"I respectfully remind you, my lord," she said, picking out another slice of meat from the fish, "that we were given orders to wake you before sunrise. It is now midmorning. Although I am hardly knowledgeable about these matters," she slipped the morsel into his mouth, "I dare to presume it might be in your best interest to finish breakfast and be on your way as quickly as possible."

"I'm already late," he said with a shrug. "No rush."

At that moment, the door slid open. It was the old woman from the night before.

"Lord Shiba, an escort has arrived to accompany you back to the academy."

He frowned. An _escort? _The academy actually sent an escort to track him down for cutting class?

"There is also a missive for you," the old woman said, reaching into her sash and withdrawing a small piece of folded paper. She glanced at Hisana. As if jolted, the girl hastily put the chopsticks down on the tray, sending them clattering against the porcelain. Rising, she wiped her hands on the skirt of her robe, then took the note from the old woman and hurried to present it to him. Kaien noted her fingers were trembling slightly.

He looked up, meeting the old woman's gaze. "I understand," he said, injecting an air of bored dismissal into his tone that would have rivaled Byakuya's. "You may inform the escort that I will be joining him shortly. I should like a few more moments to finish my breakfast in peace."

The old woman regarded him in blank silence. He arched a brow.

She bowed, stepped back into the hallway, and slid the door shut.

He turned to Hisana.

She was still staring at the door, as if it hadn't closed and the old lady were still standing there. Well, the old hag probably _was_ still standing there, but...

"Hey," he said softly. "You okay?"

Her head snapped towards him, her eyes wide and anxious. For a moment she did not speak, and Kaien had the feeling that she was not really seeing him. "M-my lord?" she finally stammered, swallowing nervously.

Her distracted tension was readily apparent — her face had abruptly paled, and there was a strange wild brightness to her eyes. Kaien glanced down at the folded note in his hand. He held it out to her.

"Read this for me, will ya? I can't seem to keep my eyes straight this morning."

She stared at the note in his hand. With visible reluctance she took it from him and unfolded it.

Kaien watched her scan the paper slowly. "Well?" he prodded.

She did not look up. Instead, she bowed, so low that her hair fell forward like a black curtain.

"My lord," she said, in a voice softer than he had ever heard her speak till then, "I beg your pardon... I cannot... I cannot read these..."

Kaien felt something heavy pull within his chest, pull and drop so heavily that he could not stop himself from leaning closer to her, so close that he could see the way the paper trembled in her hand.

_What is she so afraid of?_

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, taking the note from her. The familiar handwriting caught his eye and gave him pause. He skimmed the note quickly, folding it afterwards and tucking it inside the loose collar of his robe. Then he stared at her bowed head.

"It's just a message from a friend. He likes to write fancy, that's why there's all these difficult characters. Don't worry," he added confidentially, "half of them I can't even write myself!"

The careless grin on his face froze as she suddenly looked up at him, her eyes flashing with startling fierceness. She looked as if she were about to blurt out something, the expression on her face was so pained. Kaien felt the breath halt in his chest. But at the last moment she bit her lip and averted her face.

"Lord Shiba is being facetious," she said finally, in a voice that wavered. She took a deep breath, her fingers curling into her palms. "It is unnecessary — the deficiency is mine—"

Her shoulders, the line of her neck, the way her jaw was turned away from him — she held herself so rigidly that Kaien wondered, _wanted_ to know, what this strain was that weighed so heavily upon her, caused her such sudden anguish. The words she'd choked back, the fear that had her hands trembling earlier and the anger that fired them now — everything about her was an ever-deepening mystery.

He didn't even know her, and yet...

"Hisana."

After a moment, she turned her head and looked at him.

Reaching back into the collar of his robe, he took out Byakuya's note again and said, "Watch. I bet you've never seen anything like this."

She remained silent, her eyes dark and unsettlingly grave.

Kaien spread the square piece of paper against the tatami. _Concentrate,_ he ordered himself, frowning as he tried to recall the steps. How the hell did it go again — did he fold this corner first or that one? He groaned inwardly. If Kuukaku were here she'd be beating him up — how many times had she shown him how to do this?

He decided to wing it, folding the paper the way he thought the final shape should come out. Predictably, what he ended up with was a creased mess.

_Ah, dammit._

"My lord," he heard her say then, and he looked up to find her holding out her palm. With a sheepish grin he dropped the mangled paper into her hand. Without comment she smoothed it out against the floor. Then Kaien found himself entranced as he watched her shape the paper with quick, deft folds. A few moments later, a perfect origami crane sat on the tatami, resplendent with the squiggles of Byakuya's calligraphy.

"This," she said softly, "is a crane. What you made earlier, my lord..."

Kaien chuckled. "Well, I _did_ bet you, didn't I?"

"Yes," she agreed after a moment, her eyes still on the paper crane. "Unlike anything I've ever seen."

Then her lips curved tentatively into a smile, shy and slight, and Kaien felt it warm him as he looked at her, this girl who was unlike any he had met before. The strain was now gone from her face; suddenly he wanted very much to make sure that she would never be subject to it again. She picked up the tiny crane from the floor and held it up towards the light — the fine rice paper wings glowed, pale ivory and veined.

"Lord Shiba, look!" she whispered, her face bright with wonder.

Kaien didn't think he'd ever be able to look away.

**.:to be continued:.**


End file.
